


Dance By The Light Of The Moon

by james



Series: Cats and Witchers, Oh My [8]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Implied Relationships, Is What Bwings us Togewah, M/M, Mawwiage, Multi, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Polyamory, Werecats, some friends with benefits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:08:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25391389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/james/pseuds/james
Summary: Jaskier helps, in the sense that he is not helping.  Yennefer puts up with it, because she not so secretly likes the boys.  Also, Jaskier wears a dress and there is nakedness in the kitchen. (Not Vesemir's kitchen.)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Cats and Witchers, Oh My [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1771585
Comments: 23
Kudos: 358





	Dance By The Light Of The Moon

**Author's Note:**

> Did you know that if you draw a circle or square on the floor your cat will sit in it.

Yennefer drew the chalk along the floor towards her in a long, gentle curve bringing its point to the previous line with a practised ease. She didn't often use sigils like this one – they were old fashioned and often clumsy, in her experience. But they suited her purpose at the moment. She had been investigating this particular class of spells for some time now and she needed to start testing her theories, which meant running a few experiments. 

She leaned back on her heels and looked it over, but of course it was drawn perfectly. She stood and walked over to the table and glanced at the open book she'd left, still not quite sure which element she wanted to use for this first attempt. Well, it hardly mattered – she'd try one and then the other; it hardly mattered which order she did the experiments in.

Picking up a handful of sand and poppyseeds, she turned around – and stopped. She set the ingredients down carefully, brushed her hands on her skirt, and walked three steps towards the edge of the chalk sigil that covered the entire middle of the floor.

In the center of the chalk-drawn circle, Jaskier was sitting, head bent over his notebook.

“Jaskier.” 

He gave a sort of 'mmm' sound which meant he wasn't paying her any attention, only responding out of reflex. 

“ _Jaskier._ ”

His head popped up, then he focused on her and smiled. “Yes?”

She swept one hand out, indicating the sigil he was in the middle of. He looked around, blinking in confusion. 

“I'm trying to get some work done,” she said. She hadn't even thought he was still in the house. This morning over breakfast Geralt had said he wanted to head down to the leatherworker's shop and Yennefer had asked him to stop by the apothecary for a few supplies which meant he would be out until nearly lunchtime. Typically if Geralt left for more than a few minutes, Jaskier was right at his heels. 

But here he was, sitting in her sigil. Still smiling, he shook his head. “It's fine, you won't bother me.” Then he looked back down at his notebook, writing a bit and mouthing words.

She sighed. “Jaskier, I am trying to work and I will be using this sigil, if you haven't damaged the lines.” She looked, but of course none of the lines were in the least bit smudged. Jaskier was barefoot – but clothed, or Geralt might not have made it out of the house earlier. She wasn't actually surprised to see that Jaskier had managed to delicately walk across the entire floor without touching a single chalk line.

Yennefer sighed, and pinched the bridge of her nose. She recited an incantation, backwards, then calmly looked again at Jaskier. He was watching her, a slightly worried expression on his face.

“Are you-- Oh!” He looked around at the sigil again. He stood up, and smiled sheepishly. “You're using this, aren't you?”

“I was, yes,” Yennefer said, giving him what some might have considered to be a smile.

Jaskier beamed back at her, apparently immune to her annoyance. She knew he wasn't, really, but he'd learned over the years that she wouldn't actually do anything to him (that he didn't want done, like testing from how high up he could be dropped and still land on his feet. They'd both got yelled at by Geralt for that one, and Yennefer denied to this day that she'd run away from him with Jaskier, the pair of them giggling like they'd been drunk. Well, fine, they had been drunk. But she was denying all of it should anyone mention it.)

“Should I just...?” He began tiptoeing out of the chalk circle, and Yennefer caught herself from yelling at him not to smudge the lines. It had taken her all morning to get them drawn right, but if she drew it to his attention, chances were he'd step all over them. If she left him alone he'd probably walk out of it just fine.

She rolled her eyes up at the ceiling so she didn't have to watch. If she had to start over tomorrow, that was fine. She could spend the day dropping Jaskier from rooftops again; that would be relaxing.

“Uh, Yennefer?” 

She sighed at the tone of his voice. But she had to look – and when she did, she saw Jaskier frowning at her, standing still near the edge of the sigil. When she caught his eye, he looked down at his foot.

His toes were across one line and they were slowly turning orange. 

“Why do I let you two into my home,” she asked herself.

“Is this normal?” Jaskier asked, sounding a bit more frantic. “I can't lift up my foot, is all, and I don't normally turn this color. Grey is fine, I'm rather fond of turning grey, oh fuck, Yennefer, are those scales? Yen, help!”

~ ~ ~

“Hold still,” Yennefer hissed. Jaskier wriggled again and she gripped his arm harder. “What part of 'hold still' do you not understand?”

“The part where you stab me with sharp pins,” Jaskier retorted, pouting at her. 

She glared at him and jabbed the pin towards him, making him yelp and try to leap backwards. “Have I stabbed you at all, even once yet?” They'd been at this for nearly half an hour and Yennefer had wielded a great many pins already.

“No, but there's always a first-- hey, are you done?” He looked down at himself.

Yennefer stepped back and admired the view. The drape of the silk was nearly perfect, and given that Jaskier's frame was only slightly – that was to say _very much_ wider than her own, the allowances made for the difference meant it would be perfect on her.

Jaskier turned his hips back and forth, making the skirt swoosh slightly. 

“Hold your arms like this,” she told him, folding her hands in front of her.

“Like a demure noblewoman, you mean? Whyever for? Aren't _you_ going to be wearing it?”

Then he yelped, laughing, as she reached towards him, fingers curled like claws. A moment later he settled – a tiny bit farther out of her reach – and posed like she'd asked.

“I think that will do,” she said, nodding.

Jaskier turned again, making the skirts swirl and he stared down at himself. “I look gorgeous,” he said, preening.

This had been intended as punishment for ruining her sigil. She'd freed him and returned his foot to normal (sighing that she would be unable to fix his head, he was stuck with it that way). Jaskier had apologised of course, but she'd told him he owed her another favor and she was calling in it right then. She could have used her magic to hold the dress up, or even put it on herself and use her magic to rearrange the fabric to suit her. But making Jaskier wear it while she fiddled with sleeves and darts and corded edgings was more fun and threatening Jaskier with the pins – which she didn't actually need – had added to her fun.

But Jaskier had been absolutely delighted by the entire process and she wasn't really sorry. He'd have been a great deal more annoying if he'd been hating every second of it, whining at her and demanding Geralt come back and save him. Instead he'd offered suggestions for the drape of the cords across the chest and even let her stuff rolls of fabric down the bust to make it more realistic.

It did look rather nice on him, but she didn't think she needed to say so.

“I think I want one,” Jaskier said, still half-twirling back and forth. “Maybe in blue. Or red?”

“You just want skirts to play with,” she pointed out. At one point she'd dangled a piece of cord in front of him, bouncing it slightly, and Jaskier had given her a very unimpressed look. It didn't work in this form, he'd insisted, but she had seen how his eyes couldn't quite tear away from the knotted end as it moved.

“I do,” he agreed. “I think all of my outfits from now on will have skirts.” He turned to face the full length mirror and tilted his head. “I want to borrow this dress. Does this shade of green suit me? Maybe it needs to be gold. I look good in gold.”

“No. Buy your own dress.” She made a mental note to _be there_ when Jaskier asked Geralt about obtaining a dress. Or, even better, when Geralt saw him in it. She wasn't sure how long it would take for Jaskier to no longer be wearing it, once he did, but she definitely wanted to be there for it.

“Mm, can't you magic one up for me?” Jaskier looked at her in the mirror, smiling in a way she knew he thought was cute. It was _mildly_ cute, but she could never tell him that or she would never get a moment's peace.

“Why would I magic up a dress for you?” It wasn't as if she owed Jaskier any favors. Any she did owe him were out-numbered by the ridiculous circumstances she'd had to get Jaskier out of, including literally out of a large jar of olive oil when he'd landed on the lid and it slipped out from beneath him.

“So I can look nice!” Jaskier puffed up his chest, making the fabric-breasts look completely ridiculous. He made a face at them and let his chest fall back to normal. 

“Why do you need to look nice?” she asked, drolly. “If you're ever invited to a fancy party, it's as the working entertainment. You can't dance on top of tables and play your lute while wearing something like that. You'd trip and fall on your face.”

“I wouldn't!” Jaskier gasped. “Besides, I might go to a fancy party as a guest, you don't know. Or my wedding!”

Yennefer blinked. “Your what?” If she'd missed something this important – if they'd made plans and not consulted her, she was either going to kill them, or flee the state in celebration.

Maybe both.

Jaskier sighed, shoulders falling, and he looked genuinely sad. “Well, no, I suppose not. Can you imagine Geralt agreeing to marry me?”

Yennefer waited, but Jaskier just stood there, looking at his reflection with a sad, yearning sort of expression. “Are we talking about the same person?” she finally asked. “Geralt, the grumpy Witcher, whose entire vocabulary is smaller than that of his horse? Who dotes on you like you're the sun, moon, and other poetic things you sing about?”

Jaskier gave her a quick grin, but then it died away. “I know how he feels about me, Yen. I just...sometimes I think about it. How nice it would be to actually....” He waved a hand, but didn't say the words again, like somehow it would be too much to do so.

“But you're already married?” She wasn't entirely sure what Jaskier was upset about – maybe he was just thinking of the pompous, over-done weddings that the nobility was prone to. While anyone who knew Geralt would know he'd flee into the night before agreeing to something of the sort – anyone who knew Geralt and _Jaskier_ knew that Geralt would do anything Jaskier wanted. Eventually. Geralt was stubborn, and perfectly willing to fight a kikimora rather than talk about his feelings, but sooner or later he gave Jaskier everything he wanted and more.

Jaskier was frowning at her. “No, we're not?” He sounded confused, and was looking at her like he was wondering about her mental stability.

She huffed. “He said that neither of you agreed on the actual date, but that you were married. He said it in front of you.” She paused. “I was threatening to throw a fireball at him, but he did say it.”

Jaskier was staring at her. “He said what.” He shook his head, hard. “You mean he let you think--”

“He _said it._ In actual words. He said 'I've been married to a bard for years' and you were right there, in cat form.”

He wrinkled his nose, not looking any less stunned. “I barely remember things from when I'm a cat. Where the food is and whose boots need a dead animal left in. I don't remember what people _say._ ” He looked dejected for a moment, then scowled at her. “He actually said it.”

Yennefer nodded. “I assumed you two had had this conversation already. I thought you knew,” she added, because she was realising that Jaskier _hadn't known._ That Geralt considered them married.

They'd known one another for nearly two decades, been together for – well, Geralt had said they didn't agree on when their relationship began. But it had; no one could doubt they were sleeping together, that they loved one another. Despite whomever else was in their beds – she was there sometimes, and enjoyed it greatly, but she also dearly loved when they _left._ She had her suspicions about a few others, but never asked because she was fairly sure Jaskier would tell her every slightest detail, and more.

“He thinks we're married,” Jaskier said, slowly, and Yennefer couldn't tell what he was thinking. He stood there, an expression on his face that was partly upset, and partly thoughtful, and partly...something she liked to think of as 'frustration brought upon by a certain Witcher'.

He didn't say anything for several long moments, and Yennefer let him be. Before she could ask him what he wanted to do about it, she heard Geralt returning to the house. She glanced towards the door, and she saw Jaskier realise as well. He put back his shoulders and waited; Yennefer waited with him, because she was _not_ missing this.

It wasn't long before Geralt knocked once, softly, then opened the door. He took a step in then stopped, transfixed as he caught sight of Jaskier wearing Yennefer's newest gown. His jaw dropped slowly, and Jaskier just glared at him until Geralt's gaze worked its way – slowly – up his body. When he looked up at Jaskier's face he started to speak then stopped as he took in Jaskier's outraged expression.

“You are fucking _giving me a wedding_ you fucking ass,” Jaskier snapped.

Geralt worked his jaw, up, down, swallowing once before finally finding his voice. “So you...can wear that?” 

“You can't go around tell people we're _married_ if you haven't even _asked me_ and we are having a huge, enormous, fancy fucking wedding and I will wear this if I want to and you will not wear a single stitch of Witchery armor and everyone is going to be there and...and...and Valdo can't come!” He stomped his foot, which didn't have nearly the impact he might have wanted, as he was barefoot on Yennefer's rug.

Yennefer quickly grabbed a small glass vase and handed it to him, motioning towards the wall. Jaskier nodded and reached his hand back and threw the vase as hard as he could, grinning gleefully as it smashed into a million tiny pieces with a very satisfying bang.

Jaskier took in a deep breath and let it out, facing Geralt.

Geralt looked confused. “I thought you asked me?”

Jaskier's jaw dropped. Then he slammed it shut. Then-- “I didn't?”

He didn't sound entirely convinced, however. Yennefer clenched her jaw so she wouldn't laugh out loud.

Geralt growled at him. “You _did._ Seven years ago. You asked and I--” There was a brief look of guilt on Geralt's face, but it was replaced again by sheer annoyance. “I agreed, and....” He waved his hand at Jaskier. “You never said you wanted a ceremony. You acted like what we did that night was enough.”

Yennefer realised that “agreeing” probably had entailed grunting and not using any real words, which Geralt would take to mean “I didn't disagree with you” and Jaskier no doubt took to be “you're aware of my presence and not annoyed by it.”

Jaskier worked his jaw for a moment, then asked, “Was I drunk?”

“No,” Geralt growled again and normally this sort of growling got Jaskier flipped onto his back. If this turned out all right, Yennefer had a feeling it would again.

Jaskier wrinkled his nose a little. “Seven years...not drunk, not... Did I turn into a cat right after?”

“No.” Geralt was clenching his hands into fists, and Yennefer knew he was holding himself back from doing some Jaskier-flipping. Very few of their problems couldn't be solved with a good fucking, but both of them preferred to wait until the guilty party admitted he was wrong.

Jaskier seemed to be recounting to himself, making faces and shaking his head slightly. “Did you--” He suddenly looked astonished...then extremely guilty. “Oh. Oh – okay in my defense, I was trying to let you know I was ready for you to ask me. And you...grunted at me, but didn't seem upset, which I took to mean you'd think about it. And then you didn't, but you kept me around so I thought either you were taking your time, Mister Witcher who lives forever until he gets eaten and werecat who lives until...actually I'm not sure how long, three, four hundred years? Misha the Long-Lived was seven hundred, but he was friends with an elf mage and she might have done something, why are you still growling, Geralt, I didn't ask you to marry me, I let you know _you_ could ask me and-- oh, fuck me,” he ended with as Geralt pounced.

Yennefer rescued her dress with a tiny bit of magic, which Geralt seemed to greatly appreciate. 

Jaskier, too.

~ ~ ~

The next morning Yennefer crawled out of bed – her own bed, where she'd slept by herself, thank you. She'd left the boys to it for awhile, then joined in when they'd invited her, then gone to get some fucking sleep while they tried to break the bed in her guest room. 

This morning, despite the hour, they were still sound asleep. Well, then, she'd slept in herself, but to be fair she was never a morning person unless she had to be. She put on a robe and headed for the kitchen, making herself a cup of tea. She sat down at the small table and produced a piece of paper and a pen, and began writing names.

Geralt and Jaskier had managed to agree that Jaskier had proposed and Geralt had accepted, and they were going to tell everyone they'd simply decided to wait this long before having any formal ceremony for reasons Jaskier would come up with when he wasn't being licked.

But a ceremony there would be, and Yennefer was, by the Gods, going to help plan it, because she trusted neither of them to do it right. Jaskier would over-do it and forget who was going to pay for the thing and Geralt would invite one person to officiate and refuse to tell his family and friends where the ceremony was even being held.

Yennefer, at least, knew who to invite and how big it could be before Geralt changed his mind, and she was – she sighed. She was going to design a dress for Jaskier, and it was going to be fucking gorgeous.

There was going to be a long, embroidered jacket for Geralt as well, even if it was black and understated it was going to be as fancy as she dared. And he was going to wear it, even if she had to get all the Witchers to Axii him into it.

She tapped the xenovox and waited until Triss answered. “Bring wine,” she said. “And hurry if you want to see the boys wander downstairs still naked.”

There was a muffled noise from Triss, then a moment later, a portal appeared in her kitchen.

When the boys did wander down, Yennefer and Triss had the guest list nearly complete and were discussing color schemes. Geralt just scowled when Jaskier solved his naked-in-the-kitchen problem by shifting into cat form. 

Triss clinked her glass against Yennefer's.


End file.
